


First Time

by AlexisGreen



Category: Muse
Genre: Band Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisGreen/pseuds/AlexisGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've been through a lot together, you and I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Time We Wanted More

Fucked through the mattress. He didn’t know who came up with the expression, but the feeling couldn’t have been far off from what he’d just experienced. His body was utterly spent, finally still, a rare feat for him during touring. For once, his mind was also at peace, no anxiety running rampant, his insecurities shut down.

The hot breath steadying on his neck pulled him back to the present, reminding him that he owed it all to the blond-haired being, no, correction, god, lying on top of him. He thought about saying something about the exquisite experience he’d just lived, but words slipped out of reach, and he allowed himself to bask in the aftermath of their most meaningful encounter yet.

It wasn’t the first time they’d fucked. Dom would have objected to the use of the word, if he’d spoken out loud, so his mind adjusted the term almost immediately. It wasn’t the first time they’d had sex, not the second or the third, probably not even the hundredth.

But it had been better than all those other times; much more momentous, a date to remember and tell your grandchildren about, although he wasn’t sure how that would work out for them. It’d been the first time since their tryst began that sharing each other with others, girlfriends or groupies alike, had no longer been enough. The first time their eyes had found each other across a crowded room, among the countless people vying for their attention, and the first time they’d pushed everyone else aside. The first time they’d both recognized that this thing growing between them, whatever it was, deserved a real shot.

He remembered Dom’s eyes burning through him, as he crossed the dark dance floor of the seedy club in east London. Tom must have run out of ideas when he’d booked this one for the after party. If this was the most fashionable location in the capital, they were screwed. No one seemed to mind the sticky floors or the slightly repulsive odors though, and the club was full to the brim.

In honesty, he couldn’t care less about their surroundings, or most people present. Only one person mattered tonight – his band mate, his closest friend. The idea had been eating at him for weeks, maybe months by now, fuelled by the constant closeness between them, in private and on stage. Sometime, during the last eight months of touring, a shift in his feelings towards Dom had slowly but surely happened. He’d always cared for him, trusted him above all other friends and family. Dom’s opinion was always the one that mattered the most. Besides the fact that he found Dom incredibly attractive, that was precisely the reason Matt had slept with Dom in the first place – he trusted him.

Lately though, a new feeling had wormed its way into Matt’s heart. The slight tinge of annoyance when Dom disappeared with an overeager Asian fan for two days after their gig in Tokyo, grew into painful loneliness when Dom didn’t show up for their short break in London. The drummer had chosen to go to the south of France instead, and the fact he’d taken someone else with him, more specifically his girlfriend, or what Matt called “the flavor of the month”, had sent Matt into a drink and drug fuelled frenzy for days. Back on tour, he grew to loathe each one of the fans who enjoyed Dom’s attention - each one, no exception, until he regretted all those missed opportunities over the years, all the times he could have spent having Dom to himself.

All the signs had been there, and still it had taken an off-the-cuff joke from their other band mate for him to realize it, late one night, as yet another fan scrambled out of Dom’s bunk. Noticing the look laced in disdain that Matt had thrown the poor girl, Chris had remarked that the singer was acting like a lover scorned. As much as he had bristled at the implications, he’d been forced to admit – only to himself, mind you – that Chris might have hit the proverbial nail on the head. Simply put, Matt was jealous.

His heart had whispered that he should tell Dom straight away; unfortunately, his mind had other plans, attacking the problem furiously, arguing every side of his own dilemma at hundred miles an hour speed. What if Dom didn’t feel the same, what if he valued his freedom too much to go along with him? Or worse, what if he’d laugh and break off their illicit affair, freaked out by the intensity of Matt’s feelings? His imagination conjured up countless scenarios, each one grimmer than the previous, until he couldn’t dwell on it anymore.

So back in that dreadful club off Hoxton Square, he watched as Jack Daniels worked miracles, and Dom’s social skills blossomed until he leaned back on the bar, a redhead girl planted at his side, giggling in his ear, another two just enraptured by his, no doubt bubbly conversation.

Matt wasn’t sure what gave him the courage to approach them. Maybe the heavy-lidded stare Dom threw his way every so often challenged him into action, any sort of action. Maybe Dom had even meant it as an invitation. But Matt’s thoughts had taken a single, dangerous direction. Dom was his, and he wasn’t about to share him anymore.

He had stridden determinedly towards the bar, shoving some of the drunken people off him, dodging their attentions. The atmosphere was soaked in the sweat of bodies writhing to the beat of the music, way too cheerful for his mood. He’d registered the low bass thumping in his ears, but it served only to drown the sound of his frantic heart in flight. He’d absent-mindedly spotted Chris talking to some of the crew members to one side. Good! Less people to witness what he was about to do - something he’d been silently thankful for. Chances were his plan would go terribly wrong.

He had stopped behind the two girls fawning over Dom, cocking his head to one side, then the other, studying the way Dom’s tee had slipped towards his shoulder, to reveal the inner edge of his collarbone. It had taken him about thirty seconds of intent staring to notice the way his friend’s heartbeat pushed his blood flowing through his pulse point, the almost invisible twitch beneath the golden skin. When he’d torn his eyes away from what seemed to be his lifeline, and finally looked at Dom, he couldn’t help licking his lips in anticipation.

His surprise however had been Dom’s reaction. Never in his most optimistic scenarios had he imagined Dom watching him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed. Yes, there it was, in the grey, stormy eyes, the challenge that had spurred Matt on and had sent him across the room towards his fate. Seeing it had given him that final push to step in between the girls and peel them off of his Dom, to reach up and grab Dom’s collar and crash their mouths together.

It had been a statement, of his feelings, of the ownership he felt, of the fact that whatever was going on between them, the time had come for it to stop happening in the shadows. Later, if he had to, he could always pretend he’d been drunk, and yes, he had prepared for such a scenario too.

But as he heard the girls gasping in shock, he had felt Dom’s hands grab his face and deepen their kiss, his fingertips gently caressing his neck. Their lips had danced on top of each other, moving to a familiar rhythm which left them breathless and dying for more. In their little, intimate bubble, the music and noise of the club had faded into the background, and they’d continued to kiss oblivious to the crowd around them. Matt’s statement had now become their statement.

They’d left hand in hand, Chris smirking behind them, and hailed the first cab which passed on the street. The ride was short, too short for Matt to attempt an explanation for his actions. Hell, he’d just outed them both tonight. Dom didn’t seem upset. Far from it, really.

If the club had been dodgy, their hotel was worse. He’d have to remember to speak to Tom about it. They must have been making sufficient money to afford something clean and nice-smelling, if nothing else. His rambling thoughts had been cut short though, as, stumbling towards Matt’s room, Dom had whispered into his ear, “Whatever you want, I want it too…”. The breath of a whisper had spared him further anxiety, shedding away any remaining apprehension he might have felt. For tonight only or forever, he’d take anything Dom was willing to offer.

He’d melted into Dom’s arms, clawing away at the blonde’s clothes even as they lingered in the doorway, driven by the need to own him. They’d undressed with hungry fingers, eager for the other’s body, the promise of a feast for their senses at arm’s length. Everything about the circumstances just screamed how right this was. Their bodies, still sweaty from the club. The adrenaline still pumping through their veins after the gig. The heady feeling that, finally, they were taking their relationship to a whole new level.

As they’d knelt on the bed, Dom had captured Matt’s lips in yet another kiss, this time reverent, worshipping, and quieting down the anxious drum of the singer’s heart in his chest. They knew each other so well, and yet each kiss seemed to break through the boundaries of the familiar – like that suck on his bottom lip Dom always liked doing - every time, every fucking time, it felt like it was a brand new sensation, and his mouth welcomed another opportunity to learn it all over again. And then there was Dom’s ritual of running his strong hands, honed by years of drumming, across Matt’s back, along his spine, mapping his ribs, tracing patterns known only to them. His touches, determined and unwavering, turned Matt’s body into his playground, Dom’s fingertips skittering across the singer’s hot skin, raising goose bumps into their path.

A tangled mess of limbs and sheets, they’d playfully battled for dominance, Matt wiggling his long fingers to tickle Dom’s belly, Dom using his legs to pin his friend in the mattress. This was a game they could keep up for hours, no winners or losers. But tickles had become strokes, and pushes had turned into grinds, and each touch had morphed into the next, until the urgency could be put off no longer. Matt had begged, not out loud, he hadn’t had to, his eyes burned bright already, letting Dom know exactly what he wanted. Dom had agreed just as silently, whispering sweet nothings while he nibbled along Matt’s jaw, from the corner of his mouth to the dip below the right ear.

He’d eased Matt on his back, watching as his porcelain skin flushed with color under his lustful eyes. The brunet had squirmed in a brief moment of self-awareness, before Dom had dived down, licking and sucking on a downward path, squeezing Matt’s hips as he went along. He’d spent minutes between Matt’s legs, laying lazy licks to his cock and teasing him with his fingers, until Matt lost himself in the incredible pleasure. The singer had already lost track of time when Dom had finally slipped a condom on and penetrated him, synching their bodies into motion.

The climax had rushed quickly over both of them, intense and absolute. It’d made Matt howl Dom’s name out loud, hotel guests be damned, over and over again until his voice broke down.

The semi-darkness of the early hour allowed the first light to creep into the room, painting shadows over the floor and the walls. It was probably an hour since they’d come, and they’d hardly changed positions, except for Dom discarding the condom. It was surprising then that it was Dom who broke the silence first.

“So… earlier tonight…?”

The question remained unfinished, his tone warm and soothing – the intention was clear though. It was also sufficient to send Matt into over drive, shaking Dom off him, and rushing to grab his boxers.

“I shouldn’t have, I know. But you were just so… Any those girls, I wanted to just scream at them, to leave you alone. So many times, Dom, so many times – it’s like in Tokyo all over again, and I can’t do it anymore… I just can’t! I want…” The singer finally censored himself, scurrying around the room looking for his t-shirt.

Anyone else apart from Dom would have struggled to follow Matt in his hyper active mode. Then again, Dom wasn’t just anyone. Still tangled between bed sheets, he asked simply. “What do you want, Matt?”

Just like that, that make-or-break moment was upon him again, the decision within his grasp, to throw caution to the wind or chicken out. He only needed to stare at Dom for a fraction of a second to be reminded of the dare he’d read hours ago at the club. Matt approached the bed slowly until his knees hit its edge.

“I want you. Only you.” He said it alright, but it wasn’t enough. Why couldn’t he be more eloquent when he really needed to? “No one else is as good.” He clarified.

Dom had started moved towards him at his first words though, raised on his knees, sheet forgotten behind. Eye level with Matt, he nodded his understanding, and smiled that glorious smile which tended to take Matt’s breath away occasionally. Okay, frequently.

“Whatever you want, I want it too…” He whispered before dragging the brunet back into his arms.

Comfortable. Content. Worry-free. There were many words Matt could think of to describe his mood right then, but one fit better than any and all. Happy.


	2. First Time We Spoke

Was it really worth the crippling anxiety, and the way it’d taken over his life, leaving him unable to focus, unable to eat or sleep for days? His school work had degraded to the point where his grandma was called in for a teacher conference. He’d tried to argue his reasons, but this new fixation was as difficult to justify as it was to get rid of. How could he explain the life-changing epiphany he’d experienced watching that other band play? How would he be able to get anyone to understand that he saw, actually saw, what his life could be, ten, twenty years from now? If only…

Just the thought of what he was about to do induced a fresh wave of nausea. Skipping breakfast had been a brilliant idea. His breathing sped up in short bursts until sweat broke out across his forehead, and his palms turned clammy. He squeezed his eyes shut, head almost hitting the door of the toilet stall. Great, Bellamy, he chastised himself, now you’re going to look like a human sprinkler. If your musical skills don’t impress him, that’ll do the trick! 

Breathe in, then out, and in, and out. Matt focused on nothing else except the simple motions, forcing all the negativity out of his mind. For once, drama class came in handy, and the concentration exercises Ms. Curtis taught were not a complete waste of time. Seconds, then minutes passed. He had plenty of time to spare, courtesy of the lack of sleep last night. 

The brief respite from the stress of his upcoming actions however meant that his brain was free to analyze other events, more specifically the very ones which had led him to stand in a dirty school toilet, pulling his hair out. Matt could bet his entire month’s allowance that, while most people could no doubt remember important dates in their past, a very small percentage could look back and trace down the very moment their life took a specific path. 

He knew he was one of those people. His moment had been ten days, thirteen hours and twenty two minutes ago, but hell, he wasn’t really counting. His pathetic excuse for band mates had dragged him to The Red Lion, a pathetic pub just off the pathetic high street of their pathetic little town. Come check out the competition, they’d said. Fat lot of good it did him. He still hadn’t made up his mind whether he should have thanked or cursed them for it.

The band playing that night, basically another group of teenagers who attended the same college as Matt’s band, weren’t even that good. They were all just a bunch of copycats anyway, belting out covers with frightening little accuracy or tune - Matt didn’t even have a problem placing his own band in the same category. But somehow, these guys – he couldn’t be bothered to remember their name – were popular, at least judging by the seventy-odd people the flier had attracted that night. And, as Matt’s band was, for all intents and purposes, at the completely opposite spectrum of popular, he felt intrigued and puzzled by what exactly made them special.

They covered this new grunge thing, so hyped up in America, so that could have been it – the crowd seemed to enjoy it, people head-banging and throwing themselves around. Matt couldn’t remember getting a similar reaction at any one of his own attempted gigs. Most people in the audience however, including Matt, didn’t know any of the songs, so the jury was still out on that one.

Maybe it was the fact that they really looked the part, wearing torn jeans and funny t-shirts, rocking out on stage, not just standing there or shuffling around awkwardly. But yet again, their audience wasn’t packed with screaming girls, so how much that image influenced their popularity was still up for debate. 

He’d then picked apart the instruments to figure out what made them gel together. The singer was certainly crap, sounded like a cat on steroids. Lead guitar? The tall guy who looked like Robert Smith in drag played each intro very well, but the rest fizzled out like a pricked balloon, as he’d clearly not learned the entire tune. Keyboard player? If he’d not worried about being labeled crazy, he would have laughed his head off right then – the poor guy must have still been on page 5 of Keyboard for Dummies.

Even with all the faults he easily catalogued, there was something, or someone, driving the beat, instilling a rhythm in each song, transforming this into a bearable experience at least. The more he’d thought about it, the closer he’d gotten to the stage, stretching to catch a better glimpse of the drummer. When the set finished, twenty minutes later, his curiosity was satisfied. Taller than Matt, longish blond hair, the drummer had delivered a series of smashing bangs, his entire body vibrating with the effort, earning him more cheers from the pub patrons, then stumbled out from behind his drums to thank their fans.

Matt would later learn his name was Dominic, that he indeed attended Teignmouth Community College in the same year as him, and that, besides music, he had an unusual interest in art. Snooping around for information about Dom – apparently he insisted everyone call him that! – he also couldn’t help noticing the seemingly permanent cloud of admirers Dom attracted, boys and girls in equal measure. He was effortlessly cool and, very importantly, popular.

If those two, however, had been his only qualities, Matt would have despised him instantly and forgotten about his existence just as quickly. He watched however how Dom dragged his band mates to rehearsals every afternoon, how he spent his lunch hour doodling logos for the band or how cassettes constantly changed hands when Dom was present. Beyond the aura the wannabe drummer exuded, Matt guessed that Dom was possibly the only other person in their college who shared his desire to make music for music’s sake, and not purely to look good and hook up with girls. 

And that led him to the crux of the matter – should he be grateful for the revelation, embrace it as an opportunity, or forget about it and move on? The question was pretty much rhetorical at this stage – he’d already swallowed his pride and silenced his insecurity to choose the option behind door one, hence his presence in the boys room, at eight o’clock on a Tuesday morning, with approximately forty minutes to go until Dom would show up for school. He liked to think he had some talent; but Matt had even more sense to realize that he’d never be able to make it on his own.

So he’d come up with a plan. Until that morning, he thought it was a great plan. He’d brainstormed for days and finally listed three great reasons why the two of them should be in the same band. With minutes to go until he’d have to follow through however, his confidence, usually shaky anyway, went up in smoke. After days of stalker behavior, Matt already sensed a connection with the blond student – he recognized his generous smiles, understood parts of what made so many others gravitate around him like satellites, and wrestled an insight into his easy going nature. 

Nevertheless, to Dom, Matt remained a stranger. Today would be the first time they’d speak. If Matt managed to get the words out, that was. A shiver ran along his spine at the thought of embarrassing himself in front of Dom – weird how seeking the blonde’s approval had become his anchor point in the last days, huh?

With a trembling hand, he unlocked the stall door, and willed himself to take the four steps to the sink. He was a step way from giving himself a pep talk in the mirror, but stopped as he realized the ridiculousness of the situation. He was about to approach another student about joining a college band, not signing his soul away to the devil.

With renewed determination, Matt returned to the school yard just as the first students started to trickle through the gates. The morning chill bit into him, but he couldn’t care less. After days of torment, he wanted it over and done with, the enormity of the moment a dead weight on his heart. He politely waved off a couple of class mates - he had no time for them now, he could afford no distractions, so focused in his tunnel vision.

He’d watched almost every kid into town arrive for school, when Dom made his appearance, his blond hair ruffled by the breeze, cheeks reddened by the morning air. He carried one of his ever-present smiles, crossing the yard at a light jog. Matt froze in his place, at the top of the entrance stairs, until his mind screamed that this was it, the moment he’d looked forward to and dreaded in equal measure. He started descending, taking two stairs at one time, hoping to intercept Dom halfway. His life, both their lives, would change as soon as Dom would hear him out, he had to believe it.

It would have been too easy though, for the two of them to cross paths naturally, and exchange a greeting, perhaps a hand shake, start a conversation. Too fucking easy! No, someone up there really had it in for Matthew James Bellamy – he hadn’t made it down the full flight of stairs when Dom’s band mates surrounded the blond, clapping his shoulder, joking loudly over his late start. He looked on in horror, as Dom made no attempt to break off from the group, reaching behind in his backpack instead to pull out more fliers and pass them around. Their friendly banter carried out through the air, leaving Matt feeling even more of an outsider than he already did.

He contemplated abandoning his plan, maybe trying again tomorrow. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach returned with a vengeance though, that feeling he’d carried around ever since he’d resolved to approach Dom. Another day, another twenty four hours of agonizing wait… He couldn’t bear going through the motions. If this was how it had to happen, then so be it! 

Shoulders squared and head up straight, Matt walked up to the small group, stopping behind Dom. He cringed as he had to stretch up on his toes to tap the oblivious student on his shoulder. As Dom turned and grinned at him, surprised by the intrusion, the rush of adrenaline to Matt’s head threatened his ability to form any coherent thought. 

Dom’s smile was even more stunning up close, a thousand megawatts worth of electricity shining through. It dazzled and confounded Matt, at a loss for words for the first time in a long time. His grey eyes fixed Matt’s seriously though, directing his entire attention towards the smaller teen. Mesmerized by his proximity, Matt truly understood the attraction the blond held for so many others – his open nature, his optimism, the way Dom made him feel as if he was the only person on the face of the earth right then. Pure sunshine bottled up.

“Umm, can I help you?” Dom’s voice snapped him out of his contemplation, the curiosity painted clearly on his features. 

Blushing all the way into his eyeballs, Matt tried to speak, and all of a sudden, his grandiose speech about his musical talent, the value he could add to Dom’s band, the great future they could have together, lost ground in favor of a much simpler, but grand desire. He stared at the blond carefully trying to choose his words, unable to improvise anything remotely good enough.

Dom’s band mates were heading towards their classes, the yard emptying quickly around them. The bell rang soon afterwards, but by some inexplicable miracle, Dom still stood next to him, patiently waiting for Matt’s reply.

Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, Matt blurted out. “I saw you play at the Red Lion the other week. You were really good. I’m Matt, by the way,” he added with an afterthought.

“Cheers, mate. Name’s Dom. Nice of you to say…” 

Matt interrupted him before he lost his courage. “I have some ideas though. You could be good, hell, not just good, fucking great!”

Impossible as that might have been, Dom’s smile grew even brighter. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”


	3. First Time We Dared

“Dom, what the fuck are you doing?”

“If you shut up for a second, I’m going to kiss you.”

“But wha…” Matt stuttered in labored breaths, oxygen no longer seeming sufficient for his lung function. “Why?”

“Ah ah, Bells, here I was thinking you were smarter than you look.” The blond drummer, comfortably straddling Matt’s thighs, leaned forward to tap his nose playfully. “You challenged me to kiss a bloke, remember?” He smirked at Matt’s confusion. “You didn’t pick anyone, so I… chose you.”

**************

At first, life on tour had an almost mystical appeal for Matt. He hardly got bored, their band playing a gig every other night, partying like crazy afterwards and driving off into the sunrise the next day. They moved from place to place, without laying roots, without growing attached, living out of suitcases. Every day they explored, a new club, another bar, yet another festival. Exciting and unpredictable, travelling, and sometimes mushrooms or weed, fed their energy and appetite for adventure. Beyond it and most of all however, being on tour gave Matt the perfect excuse to spend all his time around Dom, on stage as well as off.

If they were best friends before, they now became inseparable - Matt and Dom, a unit by default. They did all interviews together, had lunch together, watched movies together, and sometimes even fell asleep together. After months of touring through countless countries, none of the crew or their close ones even batted an eyelid anymore. Tom joked frequently about all the money saved on hotel reservations – Matt usually just flipped him the bird, comfortable, for the first time, with any innuendos his friend could come up with.

The pressure of performing mounted up though, and after weeks of travel, the novelty of their lifestyle wore off somewhat. In spite of having everything he’d dreamed of so far – a not-half-bad debut album out, another one out within the year and gigs booked for the next twelve months – Matt found himself craving something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He knew he wasn’t homesick – he’d never been bound to a home before – and yet the absence of a sense of belonging taunted him.

This missing piece in his imaginary puzzle kept his mind busy, and his creativity flowing. Hundreds of music sheets littered the bus, and his beloved Les Paul was always close by. When he wasn’t hunched over his notebook scribbling lyrics about the stability of the universe, he daydreamed watching the world go by with the speed of a twenty thousand pound tour bus. It wasn’t as if he was not content, or grateful of everything they got. He just wasn’t completely happy, and he didn’t know why. 

Playing a game of dare rescued him from the impending insanity threatening to be born out of his rare moments of idleness. Unfortunately, for both of them, Dom proved to be just as stubborn and saw, then raised his challenge.

The game started inoffensively enough – instead of playing for money, the stakes for their poker games became dares. When Matt lost for the first time, he was forced to dye his hair blond and perform at Malsaucy looking like a blow dried chicken. His revenge was getting Dom to color his hair red. His plan backfired when it turned out Dom looked better as a red-head than Matt as a blond, and experiments in the looks department were abandoned. After winning the game after T in the Park, Dom forced Matt to eat pasta smothered in Marmite; just thinking about it made the singer shudder for weeks afterwards, the salty taste still hitting the back of his throat at the memory.

To his joy, Matt however soon hit a lucky streak and retaliated by having Dom sleep for a week without his eye mask, then confiscating his hand cream and finally his expensive moisturizer. The novelty of their game was starting to wear off though, as each of them were less and less inclined to revisit some of the horrors they’d inflicted on each other. Tom – who else! - came up with the brilliant idea of picking out girls out of the crowds at their after parties, then daring each other to bring them back to the bus. 

Girl after girl wondered in and out of their dressing rooms, their bunks or the cramped bus toilets for weeks afterwards. Tall or short, skinny or curvy, brunets or blonds, German, French or English, neither Matt nor Dom were fussy about their conquests, as long as they kept coming. As a side effect, the childish contest, combined with his continuous winning streak, seemed to keep Matt away from wallowing in introspection. Surprise, surprise, it also gave Matt the incentive to up the stakes of their little game.

So, the next time Dom found himself pointing towards the full club and asking “Which one?”, Matt delivered his best dare yet. He pretended to scan the crowd for a minute, then turned around to face his mate nonchalantly.

“Not a girl this time, Dom. I want you to kiss a bloke.”

 

*******************

The first touch was tentative, the tickle of a breath barely brushing on top of his lips; if his eyes had been closed, he might have missed it altogether. He was awake though, all his senses demanding a reaction from his body.

He certainly hadn’t seen this coming. Matt hoped he could be forgiven for remaining open-mouthed and staring at… his best friend? his band mate? He’d worked out quite a reputation for being game for almost anything in the sexual department – the recent string of experiments no doubt going a long way along the lines of expanding his horizons - but being snogged by Dom was as science-fiction as an alien invasion (which he admitted was very unlikely, but only when drunk or stoned).

Dom’s eyes sought his, seeing right through Matt’s apprehension; his questions – askance, permission, confirmation – were all written in those mesmerizing depths. And how could Matt deny his agreement, when he’d fantasized about this scenario for months? He nodded faintly, unable to silence the sigh escaping his lips when Dom leaned in for the second time.

There was nothing chaste or brotherly about their kiss, none of the innocence of the first one to imply a mere friendly affection, or to allude to honoring their teasing dare. No, Dom’s lips slid alongside Matt’s agonizingly slow, the deliberate, long swipes an act of learning and intense discovery, taking in each trace and contour of the singer’s small mouth. His hands came down to cup Matt’s face, his thumbs caressing the angles of his cheekbones with reassuring strokes, while his body already moved flush against the singer’s chest. 

Panting slightly, his eyes not leaving Matt’s for even a second, Dom pulled back to survey the effects of his kiss. Under his heavy scrutiny, the singer fought against letting his eyes flutter closed and melting into the sofa. He simply had to watch all of it, regardless of how much farther Dom would take their… experiment. To his relief, the blond seemed to enjoy what he saw, because he dove back down without further notice. When his tongue darted out to lick the corner of his mouth playfully, before moving to slip between his lips, Matt’s eyes finally snapped shut, unable to resist giving into wave after wave of sensation and relinquishing all control over his body to Dom. 

Their mouths continued to explore each other eagerly, with so much to learn still, so much to find out. Their tongues, warm and wet, found a primal rhythm, dancing against each other in restless, hungry strokes. The unyielding lips, the faint burn of Dom’s hint of facial hair rubbing his chin, the fruity smell of the shower gel persistent in spite of his sweat soaked body, all these little details reminded Matt each second that he was kissing another man. Not just any man. Dom. 

He knew himself well enough to lie about it - he’d thought about what it would feel like, how Dom’s kisses would taste like. He’d thought about it the same way someone dreams about winning the lottery – you imagined the event, maybe even thought about how you’ll spend the money, but nothing or no one could prepare you for the emotion which strangled your throat. Matt couldn’t even feel guilty; his mind hadn’t needed any special prompting - Dom was often the first person he saw in the morning, or the first one he hugged after a particularly good gig. How could he not think about kissing Dom? He’d never given himself permission to go beyond that threshold, a subtle semi-conscious attempt to respect Dom as his best friend. But there he was, the same best friend, initiating the exact action he had dreamed of, and - make no mistake about it – enjoying at least as much as Matt.

So now he’d had the answer to the question he hadn’t even asked out loud - it felt like being allowed into the Garden of Eden and taking a bite from the forbidden fruit; the most delicious, exquisite, secret sensation and his body helplessly reacted to it. His hands wove around Dom’s waist, securing the drummer in position above him, before launching forcefully into the kiss, biting Dom’s bottom lip just to for the pure pleasure of hearing him hum in response. Vibrations ran through Dom’s chest, and travelled along his arms, increasing his hold on the brunet’s face, fingers now tangled into Matt’s hair. He pulled upwards slightly, tilting Matt’s head back, and allowed his eyes to feast on the sight below him, Matt’s neck stretched, the tendons pulsing with the strength of his excitement, a blush creeping from underneath the collar of his black shirt. Whatever they might have said afterwards, this was no longer a game.

The calmness of the room, until then a stark contrast to the frenzy of their heartbeats, was shattered by Chris’ booming voice approaching from the corridor. Dom’s head cleared faster, his drummer reflexes right on cue. He leaned into Matt’s ear to whisper “When you want more, you know where to find me…” before climbing off of his lap and disappearing into the bathroom.

Chris came in to find a bewildered Matt, half-sunken into the sofa, hair sticking in all directions and wild eyes fixed on the bathroom door. Definitely not a game anymore.


	4. First Time In Public

“I can’t believe you did that…”

“You would have done the same for me too, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah… But that’s the point; I didn’t think you had it in you. I’m usually the one with the initiative.”

“If this is your twisted way of saying thanks, then you’re welcome, you wanker!” Overreacting as usual, the fire sparked blue in his eyes, as if he’d been slapped. Matt stomped away towards the side of the stage, grabbing the Delorean from its rack on the way.

Dom smirked unfazed, and stepped into the narrow passageway to let the door close behind him. He thought a little anger would do wonders for the singer’s mood on stage, his insecurity still undiminished by years of playing. Matt’s blow job, unexpected, unsolicited and so fucking hot, had certainly helped smooth away his own bout of stage fright; that had been precisely what Dom needed. Matt, on the other hand, was his complete opposite – the singer performed better, wilder under stress, unleashing wave after wave of energy and finishing gigs completely spent.

His own anxiety re-channeled, he felt another craving twist in his stomach, familiar and yet new, unsettling and yet welcome. Dom watched Matt stretch and listen intently to the stage manager’s instructions, as he sneaked up behind him. As soon as the techie disappeared among the massive speakers surrounding the stage, Dom reached out to squeeze the brunet’s arse from behind and growled lowly in his ear. “Thank you.”

  ***************

Hundreds of public performances, and he should have gotten used to it by now – tonight however, he felt just like the first time they had to get ready for a gig. Hard to describe though, the fear which sent him into paralysis, like his heart was riding a rollercoaster while his body was trapped in a block of concrete. His blood pressure had skyrocketed about two hours back, just as they’d gotten at the venue and found out it’d sold out. Since then, the erratic thump of his blood flow had drowned all other sounds around him, and prevented him from stringing any coherent thoughts together. His legs had trembled all the way through rehearsals and since wrapping up the sound check, he’d collapsed in the dressing room. Sold out?! Were they really that big here? They owed a lot to France, he knew, but he never imagined they’d actually made it.

The hand which landed on his shoulder almost had him jump out of his skin, yet knowing it belonged to Matt made him slump into the armchair even more.

“What happened back there, mate? I know it was just rehearsal, but I can’t remember the last time you played so…”

It was one thing for him to let the anxiety eat away at his insides, but another one altogether to have perfectionist, flawless Matt point out his faults. He bristled instantly, his eyes sparking up towards his band mate. “So what, Matt? Loud? Inconsistent? Shit? Come on, finish the sentence, and make me feel even worse about myself!”

“I was going to say shaky, Dom.” Matt calmly fired back. “And please spare me the prima donna act. That’s usually my role, so I’d recognize it anywhere. So… tone down the tantrum, princess, and tell me. What’s up?”

Was it the fact that Matt didn't seem to be affected by the news at all? Or the fact that he could sit there and scold him so matter-of-factly? He couldn’t be sure, but it riled him up even more, in spite of the defiant look he threw his friend.

“Come on, Dom. This is an important gig,” Chris chose the moment to slip away from the room, probably intimidated by the way Matt’s arms started flailing in an attempt to prove his point, “Tom’s commissioned God knows how many cameras and it’s costing us a fortune. Tell me if something’s wrong. Did I do something, say anything wrong? Please – maybe I can fix it?”

This was more like the ever-worrying Matt he knew well, but the recognition didn't erase any of his nervousness. “This isn't about you, you selfish bastard. And you can’t fix it. I don’t know how to fix it!”

Matt’s ears pricked, catching the emotion in Dom’s voice. Doom and gloom Dom was a rare sight, and he owed it to his friend to help him through, no matter what had put him in that state. His instinct, born out of years spent at an arm’s length or less from Dom, made him ask the million dollar question. “Fix what, Dom? What are you on about?”

The drummer managed to hold his stare for a record twenty seconds, before swallowing hard and averting his eyes. “I can’t go out there tonight. I can’t play like this.” There was no getting away from Matt’s scrutiny, sharp and direct. And no matter how he’d package it, the message would remain the same. “You said it yourself, I sounded completely off today, I’ll just mess it up for everyone.”

Nevertheless, somewhere during his full blown panic, Dom had forgotten his mate’s unpredictable nature, that one trait which set him apart from everyone else, which made him so special. When he finally managed to look into Matt’s eyes again, he found the singer preoccupied, lips pursed, arms crossed, mind already off on a tangent thought. He was about to remind him that he’d just poured his soul out, when Matt spoke, suddenly animated. “Come with me.”

Leaving the safety of the dressing room was out of the question, and he opened his mouth to give his friend a piece of his mind. “Matt, listen, I’m not in the mood…”

“Stop wallowing and follow me, Dom.” For added effect, Matt grabbed his arm and pulled him up, dragging him out of the room, navigating through the dark corridors behind the stage at Le Zenith. “I don’t know why today of all days you decided to launch into a panic attack. But after I’m done with you, you’re going to go out there and you’re going to bang your drums perfectly and we’re going to put on our best performance yet.”  

And with that no-nonsense tone, Matt pushed Dom into the men’s room and slammed the door behind them. He expected an elaborate speech about taking rehearsals seriously, a bollocking about picking the wrong time to have a breakdown. He didn't see it coming and surprise was an understatement.

Matt continued to shove Dom backwards until he stumbled into the first stall, and a second door locked them away from the rest of the world, albeit for a short while. The small space should have been claustrophobic, but Dom couldn't quite think yet, couldn't quite bring himself to ask what the hell Matt had in mind. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

“Okay, so here’s how this is going to happen. I will make sure you get over this freakish bout of stage fright.” Without warning or another hint, Matt’s pointer finger reached out to follow the contour of Dom’s bottom lip, teasing the corner of his mouth until the flesh gave way and the tip of his finger slid inside. The sound of Matt’s voice, depth amplified by the small stall, was sufficient to send endorphins raging through Dom’s system. “You however need to do something for me in return. Can you do that, Dom?”

He wasn't seriously suggesting what Dom thought he was, right? A single look at Matt’s face convinced him he was dead serious about his plans though, whatever they were, and Dom’s gulp broke the ensuing silence.

“Do you promise to do something for me?” Matt’s nose now tickled the tense line of his jaw, the caress surprisingly tender. Dom’s body, locked in freezing anxiety up till then, finally reacted and he nodded, hoping he was reading Matt’s signals correctly. God help him if he wasn't.

“Good boy.” The singer bit playfully just beneath Dom’s jaw, and moved his mouth next to his right ear. “I want you to let it out. I want you to scream if you have to. Cause by the time you’re getting out of here, I want you unable to think of your nerves again.”

Dom’s head hit the back of the door and he couldn't have cared less – all that mattered was Matt’s raw velvet voice, and the promises it whispered in his ear, and how quickly it’d cleared away the storm clouds in his head.

Skilled fingers sneaked beneath his t-shirt to find his sweaty skin, slowly working the fabric up towards his armpits. Just as Matt leaned in to lick a wet path from behind his ear, to his neck, then his collarbone, Dom’s hands darted out to grab the sides of the stall, steadying himself on his feet. A strangled moan bubbled out from the back of his throat, but he caught himself in time to stop it; they were in the toilet at Le Zenith, for God’s sake, it didn't get more public than that.

Matt’s lips stopped kissing the curve of his clavicle and the singer pulled back. “You promised, Dominic…”, he warned, a hand grasping the blonde’s back for leverage and the other travelling down to tiptoe towards the growing erection in his pants.

With another silent admonition, his eyes as eloquent as always, Matt undid the drummer’s belt and slipped his hand inside his boxers. Senses assaulted by that first intimate touch, Dom squeezed his eyes shut, and a fresh whimper broke out of his trembling lips.

Satisfied that his friend was on the right path, Matt attached his mouth back to Dom’s skin, placing a kiss within the hollow groove between his collarbones, moving down, inch by inch, until he found one of his nipples. Eyes closed in concentration – everything he did, he did thoroughly, Dom had to admit – he sucked hungrily, his tongue finding the sensitive nub and flicking it playfully.  
His hands moved to Dom’s sides, kneeling to push his jeans down; the image of Matt on his knees blurred slightly and the drummer gasped, the waistband of his boxers deliciously catching the head of his cock on the way to his ankles. The most random of thoughts crossing his mind was that it would have actually been painful if he weren't so hard already, always hard for Matt. The next random thought was slightly more generous.

“Wait, Matt.” The hand fixed at the base of his cock made it very difficult for him to work out what exactly he planned on saying. “Hang on, this feels very one-sided. I want…”, he whimpered loudly as Matt licked the delicate skin below his navel, “…to touch you.”

The brunet however carried on kissing, dipping to the side a little to find one of his favorite spots on Dom’s body, a tender, golden, small stretch of skin between hipbone and groin. “Just enjoy it, yeah? You’ll make it up to me after the show…” Matt winked in reassurance, and returned to his task.

From his vantage point, the view was exquisite. Blue streaks of dye still ran through Matt’s hair, creating a striking contrast against his usual jet black. Long fingers intertwined around his cock worked magic and the last of his anxiety departed from his mind. Dark eyelashes shadowed his porcelain cheeks, and, as he worshiped Dom’s body, Matt looked like a fallen angel. Dom blinked furiously to clear his vision, the moment, the opportunity too good to miss. He caught the exact, glorious second the brunet’s mouth closed over the head of his cock. A groan ripped from his chest this time, and he didn't have the power or the willingness to prevent it.

Slow, intricate licks to the underside of his cock, mapped his throbbing length, matched only by the downward strokes of Matt’s lips, finding the perfect rhythm to follow. Each suck turned his body into live wire, responsive and trembling under the singer’s touch; and that’s what he’d always expected, since he’d gone after Matt that first time, always close, always in tune with each other. Who else to know him as good, who else to peel the layers of optimism and easy-going attitude, to find the person, the lover underneath?

Rich, bone-deep shudders crawled over him as cold air hit him, Matt removing his mouth briefly to catch his breath. The singer’s hands remained on him though, eager to maintain that primal rhythm, massaging his cock and transferring moisture to his balls, leaving no part unattended.

With a lascivious lick over his lips and another timely wink, that talented mouth returned with renewed enthusiasm, wet and warm, coaxing reactions louder and louder by the minute. The skill of Matt’s performance sent the drummer into overdrive, his release wholly dependent on the next suck, or the next lick.

His body finally liberated from his mind, Dom allowed his hands to weave through Matt’s hair, and push him down, thrusting with all that was left of his strength. When he screamed, remembering his promise, he was sure the entire venue, La Villette, oh what the hell, all Paris heard him. “Shit, Matt, I’m coming….!”


	5. First Time I Said the Words

They stole breaths in between urgent kisses. If he didn't speak now, he knew he didn’t have the strength to do so later. “I have no idea what I… we’re doing here…” The stunted words were barely above a whisper.

“Do you want to stop?” The hand caressing his neck halted mid-stroke, and he felt ecstasy being ripped away from him.

“No, don’t stop!” He closed his eyes, unable or unwilling to fight anymore. “God, don’t stop!”

*********************

It could have happened again. Easily. After all, they had another twenty-eight gigs left until the tour wrapped; in other words, or statistics in this case, two continents, twelve countries to travel together, eighteen flights to catch and almost every waking moment to spend side by side. But it didn’t.

Their lives carried on by force of gravity, on surface unshaken by that moment in London, propelled by forces nearly out of their control. Another tour leg, more interviews and even more photo shoots seemed lined up for years to come.

What surprised Matt though was how busy Dom suddenly was – the drummer took charge of their new official website, and the band’s overall artistic direction. He surrounded himself with billboards and advertising proofs, and, between that, the gigs and the girls – God forbid he should forget the girls! – Dom didn’t seem to have time for anything, or anyone else.

It annoyed Matt that his best friend hadn’t apologized, or mentioned or acknowledged the incident in any way. He told himself he should be relieved, spared more embarrassment. Dom must have just been horsing around, trying to get the upper hand in their twisted little game. In fact, for the next week, numerous girls continued to wear a path on the bus carpet, stumbling in and out of the blonde’s bunk.

Surely Matt could have been forgiven for thinking all was forgotten? And he would have moved right on, if it weren’t for the most peculiar stares Dom started to throw his way every now and then. More frequent as time passed, without a special meaning attached to the occurrence, the singer found each stare to be an undisguised reminder of the heavy rapture he’d experienced in his friend’s arms, the way it’d taken him seconds to skip past the apprehension and just immerse himself in the sensations. He felt those stares drill through him at their gigs, each time he jumped and spiraled on stage; those stormy eyes found him on the bus, when they ate or when they talked, the first thing in the morning, and right before bed.

It scared the hell out of him. So he did the only thing he knew under the circumstances and found his own escape. The upcoming album gave Matt an opportunity to disappear for hours in his own world, slaving over lyrics and musical arrangements. Burying himself in thousands of music sheets and forgetting to eat in the process was the perfect excuse to hide away from the bright pink elephant in the room, blinking like a neon sign at midnight on Wardour Street.

Those five minutes, backstage at The Barfly, continued to haunt him though, to play back like a dream in his mind, already far away, surreal in its intensity. The memory stirred too much confusion, and the confusion fuelled his frustrations. If he’d had the courage, he would have asked himself what exactly frustrated him. He knew however the moment he figured it out, he wouldn’t be able not to deal with it. So, although he couldn’t deny thinking about it, his mind danced away from the reasons and motivations behind Dom’s as well as his own behavior.

That was of course, until the drummer decided to take it one step further. It was as if someone had switched a button – one day, he still blushed like a beet the second a girl shoved her tongue down his throat; the next day, he literally devoured a half-naked brunette, plastered over the tiny sofa in the tour bus, his hand buried deep between her legs.

It wasn’t the fact that Dom was suddenly comfortable enough to get it on in public. Or the fact that, in the dim lights of the bus, Dom’s skin seemed to glow golden, and shimmer with each move. Or the fact that seeing Dom so absorbed by pleasuring someone had made his own jeans uncomfortably tight.

No, none of these things would have changed their circumstances. What sealed his fate, however, was the fact that, in the darkness of his own bunk, without even looking at the passionate couple, Matt realized exactly where he wanted to be – underneath Dominic, being the one who was touched and doing the touching, moaning without shame, writhing without restrictions.

Before he had a chance to change his mind, he pulled the curtains aside and strode into the small living space, just as the brunette’s keening moans pierced the silence for the umpteenth time. He already knew the password; he just prayed he had the guts to say it out loud.

“I want more…” Three words and a glance exchanged were enough.

Had the years of being best friends made him so predictable? Or was his body an open book, his wants and needs spelled clearly for all to see? How else could he explain his reactions - the way each breath which left his lungs felt like his first or the dull burn of his skin once Dom’s touch had disappeared? From the second that Dom had backed him into his bunk – mere moments after he’d uttered the simple words, girl forgotten behind - he’d pushed every single button Matt was aware, and unaware of till then, effortlessly.

When their lips met for the second time, he could have sworn electric current ran between them, sealing them together. Pink lipstick was still smudged on Dom’s lips, and he still tasted of beer and cigarettes. Yet when the drummer’s mouth hovered on top of his, Matt finally felt free to admit to himself that he’d wanted precisely that for weeks already.

One kiss became two. Two kisses became one hundred, hard bites attenuated by soft licks, along Matt’s collarbones, or Dom’s shoulders. The singer discovered how well his hands fit in the small of Dom’s back, and the drummer… well, the drummer definitely enjoyed pulling Matt’s hair back to expose the long tendons of his neck to his greedy kisses. The game of dares which they had started long ago continued in the privacy of Matt’s bunk – each sliver of skin revealed met with anticipation, each grind of hips reciprocated. A tee removed, a belt tossed aside, buttons pulled roughly apart, and Matt was helpless against Dom’s hungry exploration.

He gasped as the drummer’s fingers tightened along his erection, all thoughts of introspection driven out of his mind. Confident and unashamed, no trace of apprehension, this touch was new, and still intimately familiar, and it made his knees tremble. His fingers combed through Dom’s hair, scratching along the scalp. His teeth bit briefly on Dom’s upper arm, trying to muffle the sounds of pleasure. Control was however something he soon had to say goodbye to, his head thrown back, his body thrown into the throes of passion. His own moans filled the space between them, and Matt couldn’t help grinning at the thought that the girl Dom had been wooing earlier might have still been on the bus listening to them.

His own hands sneaked beneath the waistband of Dom’s jeans, but the drummer brought them back up, pinning them to the mattress above his head. He shook his head and kissed the side of Matt’s mouth, slipping his tongue around the edge of his lips. On top of him, Dom continued to work his hand along Matt’s cock, warm and moist, rubbing and twisting, relentless. His own erection, still trapped under layers of clothes, rubbed against Matt’s hip, the friction delicious. Time lost meaning for them both, measured just by the lapse between two kisses, the length of the arm holding Dom up, or the texture of Matt’s tongue along the blonde’s jaw.

Orgasm sent shock waves through the singer first – his body went rigid, head buried in his pillows, neck tightened and eyes clenched closed. His cum shot hotly against his chest in two long spurts, and Dom bowed his head to swipe his tongue for a first taste. If his head wasn’t still reeling from the best orgasm of the… of his life, really, Matt might have come for a second time just then.

Instead he pulled Dom flush against him, his hands lowered against the blonde’s arse, encouraging him to grind faster. They fell into an easy rhythm, as in sync in the confines of the bunk, as they’d always been on stage. Dom came soon after, his face hidden in the crook of Matt’s neck, his sweat mingled with Matt’s.


	6. First Time You Came Home

In the early dusk of a late December day, the place had looked haunted, lifeless and damp. But something about the location, the promise of beautiful days spent on the lake beyond the first line of trees, or maybe reviving the ghostly house with its large windows, all of that made him want to linger, made him want to breathe soul back into it, to take the empty shell and give it a new purpose. He bought it, just three weeks later, without being able to explain even to himself the true meaning of its appeal.

The house was his first significant purchase in years. Not the most expensive; he already had a couple of other properties, although he’d never gotten attached to either, the years of touring the best excuse to be away from home. Not the most outrageous either; that honour went to the sports cars he’d trashed within days of acquisition. It was the most significant though; for the first time since his teenage years, he felt drawn to a house, instead of wanting to run away from it, from everything a house actually entailed; coffee makers, toasters and vacuum cleaners, towels and laundry, and the same bed night after night after fucking night. This house though... Something about it spoke to him of fresh beginnings, of hopes of finding peace and a sense of belonging, and it chased away his fears of growing old, of losing every shred of creativity he had. He’d hired redecorators in February, and by end of April, most of the work had been completed, leaving him to contemplate gathering some of his equipment and moving there as soon as the US tour ended.

No one else knew of his plans to move there. On tour, everyone had their coping mechanisms sussed out already, to help deal with the transient nature of their daily life. Chris took refuge in his family, foregoing interviews and press releases for conference calls with Kelly. Each break they got, he headed back to Teignmouth, and slipped back into his role as a husband, as a father, hanging on to an appearance of normality which Matt envied. And Dom? There was no doubt he’d always handled everything better, the interviews, the meet-and-greets, the concerts; he smiled when he had to, and finished Matt’s sentences when needed, signed autograph after autograph and winked at the cameras. Everything just seemed effortless to him.

And while Dom had been his rock, was his rock still, the years of travel and constant change forced Matt to feel as if somehow he was losing control over his life, and relinquished it more and more to... To what? To the music, which had always been his entire reason for breathing? To the fans, who made each ecstatic moment on stage more beautiful than the previous one? No, neither of those, because if he’d had to give up the rest of his days to know that he’d made the best music possible and kept their fans happy, he’d have signed his soul over to the devil a long time ago. He didn’t make a lot of sense to himself either, he knew that. What he did know though was that unhappiness had started growing inside of him, infecting him like a sickness, and he had to figure out how to help himself before he started losing, losing his creativity, losing his appetite for writing altogether. Even worse, losing people he loved.

So the old villa on Lake Como became his escape, at first on paper, sketches of the project complemented by the occasional snaps the architect emailed. Very little would be changed about the house, apart from soundproofing it for future rehearsals. And then, in early summer, when he descended off the plane and hoped he was finally heading home.

Anxiety, deep-rooted and hard to silence, shadowed him during the one-hour drive from Milan airport. It’d been impossible to sleep during the flight and now Matt couldn’t relax. Blaming the adrenaline running rampant through his system, he checked the satellite navigation dashboard compulsively for the number of miles left till his destination.

The redecorator waited for him in front of the house. Tall, brunette and wearing head to toe Armani, she smiled at him invitingly and offered a tour of the house. He dismissed her, without letting her speak more than a few words. Si, grazie mille, he’d let her know how he liked the place soon, he told her, shaking hands only for the time needed to take the keys off of her.  
Alone. He wanted to be alone as he opened the doors to his new house. He wanted to make sure he’d made the right choice, that his house could quiet down his demons and protect his heart. He wanted to be alone in case he was disappointed and had to leave within minutes. As he turned the keys in the lock and stepped into the large foyer, disappointment was furthest from his mind.

Like a child opening Christmas presents, Matt explored his new house. Only one thing left to do now, before this became home. He shrugged off his coat, and set to work.

***

Only God knew what brought him out here, what made him diligently follow the instructions mailed to him.

He’d had his moment of rebellion already, when the envelope had been delivered to him, recorded mail and all that shit. He burst into laughter when he read the details; if this was a prank, then it was a very elaborate one, but certainly one that his friend had the means and imagination to pull off. He refused to change his plans and make the flight which had been booked for him. He told himself he’d done it before and it hadn’t been worth it. He told himself he was supposed to be too old to drop everything and play an expensive game of hide and seek around the world.  
The abrupt break in touring schedule, the lack of contact between them, his own loneliness and longing made him reconsider his decision two days later. Phone calls were placed quickly and, despite the fact he almost dreaded what awaited at the end of his journey, he locked his apartment without looking back.

***

The doorbell rang once, and he lifted his head from the sheet of music, temporarily confused by the source of the shrill noise. Three rings later and Matt was rushing down the stairs. He opened the heavy door as wide as it would go.

Happiness swelled inside of him and he even though he’d expected, no he’d hoped, for this very appearance on his doorstep, he still half-choked in surprise. “You’re late.” He managed to act cool despite the blush which seemed to inject his eyeballs in nanoseconds. “What kept you so long?”

They stared each other down, Dom still leaning against the frame of the door, Matt shuffling from one leg to the other. 

“Why were you so sure I’d come,” the drummer asked, peering behind his band mate to see the reason he’d travelled two thousand miles for.

“I wasn’t,” Matt defended his reaction, trying to contain a goofy grin. Unfortunately, focusing on not smiling meant his mouth was free to ramble. “You either were, or you weren’t. It was up to you. But since you’re here already, what’s the point of acting all coy and pretending you didn’t plan on jetting off at my call?”

“Right.” The door thudded closed behind him as Dom stepped inside, sliding past Matt on the way. He liked to think they were beyond the stage when an invitation was needed.

“You look good.” Matt realized the words were insufficient. He’d been careful about his plan, about conveying his instructions and making all arrangements to get Dom to Moltrasio; act too eager and he might have scared Dom away; act uninterested and he might have earned a kick in the ass. But he never planned exactly what he would say to him, not down to each word. Good was such a bland way to describe the beauty inherently personal that his friend, his lover, possessed. Right then, black jeans and a black graphic tee, he could have sworn Dom had never looked better. “You do, you know? You look great! Thanks for ...”

Satisfied that no unwelcome surprises lurked beyond what he could glimpse of the ground floor, the drummer interrupted his attempt to rectify his appreciation. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Matt’s eyes narrowed at the forward question. “What do you mean? I keep doing what?”

“Disappear on me? Run and hide? Whatever it is you’re doing to keep me away.”

“Keep you away?” The singer frowned, two creases wrinkling his forehead. “Dom, I asked you to come here.”

“We haven’t spoken in two weeks, Matt. How is that not disappearing on someone?” Dom’s voice went up a notch. “I know it’s you, and you have these strange spells when nothing or no one is sufficient anymore. But you can’t keep it up. I won’t let you.”

“Dom, I wasn’t running...”

“It’s not just about you anymore. It’s not! There are two of us hurting. You told me years ago you wanted more, and yet every time we get close to that point, you... backtrack and we’re back to being two awkward teenagers at the first crush stage.”

Matt reached up and brushed his lips over the drummer’s mouth. The single caress, brief and light, tender and loving, silenced Dom. “Can I show you something?”

Whether it was the fire burning blue in Matt’s eyes, or the quiet confidence with which he’d asked that convinced Dom, he didn’t know, but he followed. He let himself be led through room after room, and floor after floor, including a detour through the basement, holding Matt’s hand the whole time.

On the Juliet balcony of one of the upstairs bedrooms, he stopped Matt before the singer had a chance to curate the whole history of the villa. “I get it, Matt. It’s a house, it’s got walls and floors and windows, just like any other house.”

It was Matt’s turn to shush him. “It’s not like any other house, not this one. This is our house, Dom. I bought it for us.”

Later, a lot later, after Matt had exhausted his list of facts about the house, their bodies greeted each other too, rocking together to the whirring of the ceiling fan and the chirping of crickets outside the windows. Two weeks, so little time and yet so long; two weeks to miss each other’s voices; only two weeks to put enough perspective around the fact that time apart only refuelled their mutual craving. The kiss they’d started in the dining room continued along the hallway and into the bedroom, even as they landed on their new bed in a tango of limbs and flying clothing. Matt pinned him to the mattress and crawled on top of him, claiming his lips and his heart for his own, biting along Dom’s collarbone to leave his mark behind.

That night, Matt also surrendered his heart, openly and willingly. Perhaps words weren’t necessary after all. Perhaps actions did speak louder than any declaration shouted in press releases and music magazines.

And the house? The house became a home the second the blond drummer stepped over the threshold. Within it, Matt found his peace, although, as fate would often have it, his peace had always been at his side.


End file.
